Page 12 of Falling for the Enemy

Territory that is supposed to become mine.

I hiss in annoyance, my minty breath slipping past my ruby-glossed lips with ease. How my men—especially Viktor, who is paid handsomely to stay on top of these things—missed the turf war that seems to have erupted underneath our noses is something I don’t understand.

But that I will get an answer for.

Mistakes are something Kings don’t make.

Not ones of this magnitude, at least.

The muscle-stacked bouncer’s gaze swings to me as I cross the street, leaving the shadows where three of my men still lurk. His face is indifferent as he lifts a two-way radio to his lips and speaks into it, likely announcing my arrival.

Surely Mr. Santiago is expecting me.

If not, he’s an idiot.

I say nothing as I approach and bypass the bouncer with a wink, not bothering to join the line of hopefuls praying to be admitted or waiting for his approval to enter.

Interestingly enough, he doesn’t stop me.

Once inside the building, multi-colored strobes ghost over my skin, catching the glint of the diamonds I wear around my neck, wrist, and ankle in the light.

Heads turn in my direction, and appreciative stares sweep over the length of me. I pay them no attention as I hold my clutch tightly and move toward the building’s center, the satin wrap dress I wear clinging to me like a second skin.

My nose tingles, the smell of perfume mixed with sweat and alcohol near migraine-inducing. Why people love coming to places such as these is a mystery.

Reaching the center of the packed dance floor, I stop and look up, my eyes scanning the VIP area, followed by a row of tinted, second-story windows that line the far side of the club.

That’s where Alejandro is.

Concealed behind the tint, watching me.

I don’t know how I know, but I do.

Grabbing a martini off the tray of a server that’s passing by, I raise it and smile, the gesture a silent invitation for him to come and join me since we have much to discuss.

In particular, how he’d like me to kill him.

I bring the drink to my lips, close to taking my first sip, but stop when a man at the bar catches my eye. My fingers tighten, the stem of the glass nearly shattering, when I spot the quick move of his hands, along with the clear liquid he just dumped into an unsuspecting woman’s drink.

Red bleeds into my vision as distant memories, all starring Mina, assault my mind. “Nyet,” I tell myself, already turning toward the bar as my stomach clenches. No. “This isn’t happening.” I drop the glass to the dance floor, ignoring the liquid that sloshes on my feet, and move.

Quickly.

The man’s beady eyes trace my every curve when I step up next to the young woman whose drink he just dosed and look her up and down, my icy expression one that will make her depart without putting up much of a fight.

“Mind if I cut in?”

“Uh,” she starts, more easily intimidated than I thought she would be. “Sure, I…” She picks up her drink, the same one that’s been flooded with GHB. “I’m just gonna—”

I snatch the glass from her hand. “Leave.”

It’s not my wish to be cold and cruel, not to her, but hostility will make her move much faster than kindness.

I know from experience.

Without another word, she grabs her wristlet purse and stumbles back a step before turning and disappearing into the crowd, safe for the time being. Briefly, I wonder what she was doing alone at the bar. Does she have friends on the dance floor? Why is no one looking after her?

My skin bristles at my thoughts.

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